


His Lads

by HM (HyperMint)



Series: Right Down to the Soul [2]
Category: Dunkirk (2017), Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, caretaker!Eames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-28 19:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15056063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperMint/pseuds/HM
Summary: Arthur is a loyal regular at theSpitfire.The owner, Eames, is enamored with the RAF Pilots of WWII and with good reason.*Connected to Hartwin story 'Tailor Made', but not a sequel.*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.
> 
> AN: Basically, most of this story almost literally came from a scene near the end of 'Dunkirk' and my thoughts evolved from there. If you watch the movie after reading this - or even during the story -, the scene in question will become very clear.
> 
> I know I said I was going to update before the 25th, but that was before June 8th. I'm still a little rattled by what happened and I know his fans and loved ones are still heartbroken, so lots of hugs to everyone out there who admired and looked up to him and to everyone who has suffered a similar loss.
> 
> I'm going to update on Tuesdays, so I'll see you next week.

Arthur loved coffee.

Didn’t matter where it came from, how it was brewed, ‘caf’ or ‘decaf’, he loved coffee.

So, naturally, upon landing at the airport the weekend before starting his new job - even before stepping foot in his new, unfurnished apartment -, he went looking for a place to get his coffee fix.

He didn’t mind chain coffee places, but he much preferred hole-in-the-wall local favorites, because he liked different coffees and chain shops weren’t how you got unique blends.

It wasn’t until exactly two weeks later that he found his Coffee Place.

_Spitfire_ was an odd name for a coffee shop, but Arthur took one sip of the Brew of the Day and was immediately in love.

“How is the line not around the corner and five streets over?” he almost blurted one afternoon as his usual barista smiled warmly at him. “I mean, seriously? This place is the best, bar _none_.”

“A glowing review, Darling? Be still my heart,” amused grey eyes didn’t look away from his incredulous expression as Eames rang him up.

“Eames, be serious. I mean it. How is this place not popular?”

The _Spitfire_ served food and Arthur had the whole menu of it within the first week, especially this one blueberry thing that started his crush on Eames, and had nothing but good things to say about all of it.

The drinks, though, oh my god.

“Would you prefer personal service or more recognition of my genius?” Eames raised a brow.

“You’d give everyone your attention, anyway,” he waved dismissively. “It’s what you do. You take care of people.”

And Eames really did take care of people.

He owned the place, but he thrived on working there and cooking and baking and doing barista things and he knew the regulars like Ariadne with her scarves – so much so that he could tell her mood by the style of scarf and how tightly she wore them around her neck – and Saito, who came in twice on Wednesdays for green tea and strawberry scones.

Eames took care of all of them – knew moods, families, personalities, favorite orders – and Benjamin, a black cat who wandered in a couple of years ago and never left.

Arthur had never seen such a blatant display of caretaking in all his life, especially when it got colder outside and the Mother Hen definitely came out.

He would look up from his projects, Benjamin a comforting weight in his lap, and see Eames try to – almost literally at times – spoon feed people soup and other hot liquids. He also had a strong suspicion that Eames had actually spooned soup into _his_ mouth when he hadn’t been paying attention.

But that was neither here nor there.

“Well?” he crossed his arms with a challenging brow.

“But I don’t need popularity when I’ve already got all I need,” Eames smiled slightly.

Arthur blinked at that, taken aback at the sincerity, and felt his ears warm in embarrassment.

He couldn’t find a response, so he took his order and slinked off to his usual table.

* **

It was about a year after Arthur found the place when he finally found out why it was called ‘Spitfire’.

Eames was sitting at a table near his own during a lull and Arthur had half a mind to look at what he was reading that had captured his attention so thoroughly, but watching him was more alluring somehow.

Arthur liked seeing the wonder on Eames’ face, the delight and excitement in his grey eyes, the absent way he would run his fingers through his short hair as he concentrated on his book.

He didn’t realize he was staring until Eames looked up at him with a slight smile.

“The World Wars,” he answered, Arthur startling slightly as he was abruptly jolted from his thoughts.

“What?” he asked smoothly.

Eames tapped the page he was reading. “Noticed you looking over. Thought you were curious.”

“I can be – I mean, I am,” he mentally winced.

“Come take a look, then,” he invited, kicking out the chair across from him in invitation.

Arthur barely registered moving, perching uncertainly on the chair’s edge as he looked down at wide, glossy pages.

“I’m just reliving the Second World War,” Eames explained, tapping the section title on the side of the page. “Haven’t gotten to the Battle of Britain, yet, but it’ll be along soon enough.”

Arthur glanced over the paragraphs and accompanying pictures and illustrations. “So, you like the Wars?”

“Well, I’m particularly attached to the Second. That doesn’t make the First any less important, mind, but the Second had quite the toys,” Eames flipped back a number of pages before stopping to point out the British forces and their equipment as the preferred ‘toys’ changed from the mid to late 1930s, all the way to war’s end in 1945. “I’m especially enamored with this gorgeous creature,” he smiled besottedly at the aircraft.

The Second World War, from what Arthur understood, had quite the array of aircraft on all sides.

The various Air Forces were critical in everything from Pearl Harbor to the dogfights to providing cover for their respective ‘boots on the ground’ forces and dropping bombs on civilian and military targets alike.

Arthur had more than once heard the question: Would you have dropped the Bomb?

He’d always said, ‘Knowing what we do now, absolutely not. But I think we needed to do it.’

Prior to 1945, no one had any idea about what dropping the bombs would do – or what that kind of energy would do, period.

Then Chernobyl happened and the Sendai earthquake and tsunami damaged the Fukushima-Daiichi nuclear reactor and then, suddenly, the data collected from the two bombs and the fall out was _useful_.

Sometimes, bed things needed to happen for people to understand why it should never happen again.

As callous as it sounded, however, those things needed to be documented and studied thoroughly with every possible detail covered just in case that series of observations had to be used for the next time.

His brown eyes skimmed over the British planes as Eames waxed poetic next to him, when he caught a familiar name.

The RAF’s Spitfires were – to his untrained eyes – beautiful things that basically kept the Allies in Europe from being too soundly trounced by the Axis forces.

“Is that why you named this place? After one of these planes?”

“I think so,” Eames shrugged.

“You don’t know?”

He sat back with thoughtfully crossed arms and took a moment to answer. “I opened this place, because I like to think people need looking after.”

“We do,” Arthur agreed. “Not all of us, but…” he didn’t want to come across as creepy by blurting out ‘I do’, even if it was true or not, so he trailed off with a shrug.

“You’re too kind, Darling,” Eames simply shook his head with a smile, as if Arthur was just saying that to be nice. “But thank you for playing into my delusions of importance. Anyway, I’ve always liked the idea of cafés and coffee shops and I’ve had many compliments of my work in the kitchen and behind the bar, so that’s what I did. You may not think much of café owners, but I think those who work at cafés and the like should want to take care of people. The world is dangerous and lonely and I’ve strived the best I can to create a place of refuge for everyone who wanders in. Life is a battle and I wanted people to remember that they had an ally in the ‘Spitfire’.”

“Just like in WWII,” Arthur nodded in understanding.

“Quite so,” he smiled in approval. “I actually have a pilot’s license, so it’s not quite off the mark. The British forces in the war are all made up of heroes – all in their own way -, each and every one, but to me, it’s the pilots who were the real heroes,” and Eames truly believed that. “I mean, it’s one thing to be on the ground with places to hide, but up in the air…”

Arthur could understand Eames’ near reverent tone and expression as he thought about it.

The ground forces had more of a chance in a skirmish, because all they had to do was dive for cover. There were more in number and plenty of others ready to take up the fight.

Anyone could be a soldier – an officer, even -, but there was a special kind of person who could become a pilot.

As far as the Air Force boys had been concerned, skill, teamwork and pure luck were all that stood between victorious return and uncontrollable freefall.

One wrong move and –

The Spitfires and their brave pilots almost single-handedly kept the European Theatre on an even keel, being sent out to cover the ground troops who were sitting ducks.

They didn’t always succeed, but hell if they didn’t die trying.

“You have a lot of respect for those boys,” Arthur studied him, unable to look away from his bright, sparkling eyes.

“I most certainly do. The pilots did their absolute best to take care of their charges. I’d be a poor Spitfire pilot myself if I didn’t try to fly in their wake.”

Arthur couldn’t help finding it fitting that Eames considered himself something of a protégé of the original Spitfire pilots.

“They might be flying overhead right now,” he told him. “You may not actually be one of them, but I bet they’d be proud of you, anyway.”

Eames blinked, as if uncertain what to do with Arthur’s words, before eventually softening with a smile that made him warm inside. “It’s what I aspire to achieve.”

What could he say to that?

* **


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a week late!

* * *

As the weeks passed, Arthur was reminded of their conversation as Eames interacted with all of his customers.

The Brit did the best he could in his quest to gain his heroes’ approval, handing out candy to everyone he came across – Arthur bemusedly growing quite the collection of butterscotch candies with every hour -, advice and tissues if needed and smiles with every order.

Arthur gave into curiosity and found some books about the life of the WWII soldiers, eventually concluding that Eames must have known how much the little things would’ve meant to the Allied forces on the ground – even those at sea.

In comparison, being a soldier today was easier in some ways and unchanged in others.

He had the constant thought of how much of a comfort Eames could’ve been to the very pilots he revered had he been a café owner back then. Actually, Eames would more than likely have been a Spitfire pilot himself, for real.

As for the customers that came into the _Spitfire_ day after day, though, maybe he didn’t need to be anything other than himself.

Arthur hadn’t been there on one Wednesday, but he stumbled in Thursday morning to find a framed picture of an actual Spitfire hanging proudly above the register.

“Isn’t she absolutely _gorgeous_?” Eames cooed when he noticed Arthur trying to remember if it had always been there and he was just now seeing it. “Saito gave it to me yesterday.”

Those two had some weird friendship Arthur stopped trying to understand a long time ago, but it worked for them.

It kind of reminded him of two of those characters on _Gundam Wing_ , but not really because he adored that pairing and actually being reminded of it when he had a crush on Eames was just – no.

He did know, however, that they had an almost familial relationship going back possibly even before the _Spitfire_ ’s conception. It was only natural that Saito knew things about Eames that Arthur vowed to one day find out himself, so it wasn’t a surprise to find out that someone else knew about the Spitfire pilots and their role in Eames’ life.

“Think he’s feeling guilty about Pearl Harbor?” Arthur half-seriously wondered as he watched Eames make his coffee.

“If he is, he picked the wrong person to give presents to,” Eames shrugged. “Why, do you think it’s something he should be feeling guilty over?”

“Well, we dropped bombs on his country, so we’re even as far as that goes.”

“And bringing America into the War was a definite mistake, but understandable considering the deteriorating conditions back in Japan.”

“Then we pretty much invaded the country and took their weapons away.”

“But if I’d been around, I’d have given someone a good thumping about the current state of social affairs,” Eames scowled.

Arthur was going to have to look into that as soon as his current project wrapped up. “But why’d Saito give you a picture of a Spitfire?”

“I’m not sure,” he said lightly. “I think it was some advice I gave him a number of weeks back.”

That would do it.

Ariadne had once saved Saito’s suit and he gave her all the yarn her knitting group wanted. Yusuf had done something with his Chemistry degree and got a year’s supply of some chemical he’d needed for some project that had kept him running in and out of the _Spitfire_  for caffeine and food.

Arthur was still of the opinion that Eames had finally snapped and sedated the man, but Eames denied all accusations.

“Well, the picture fits right in,” Arthur told him. “Spitfires aren’t supposed to fly alone.”

The beaming smile had Arthur flustered for no reason and he tried not to be obvious as he all but ran out the door, ears hot at the tips.

* **

Arthur loved Saturdays almost as much as he loved coffee.

Ever since he learned about Eames’ regard for the Spitfire pilots, the both of them got in the habit of spending some time together at the same table.

As much as it sounded middle school – _American_ middle school, though he supposed it could also apply to whatever British equivalent of education Eames tried to explain to him –, he liked sharing a table with Eames and just being near him.

That’s why Saturdays were so special to Arthur, no matter what they did and even if they just did their own things in silence.

Saturdays were _sacred_ and everyone knew it.

Except for Eames, maybe.

Arthur wasn’t sure how important Eames thought Saturdays were to him – or why -, but it had said a lot when Arthur showed up last month half dead from illness and things got fuzzy after that.

All he remembered was waking up on Eames’ sofa with a thick blanket and the sensation of being safe and cared for.

And because Saturdays were sacred, Arthur moved from his usual table to make himself free for Eames to join at his leisure.

The _Spitfire_ was opened for two hours before Arthur looked up from his book and realized that Eames wasn’t there.

Odd.

He’d usually be the very first thing Arthur saw every visit.

Ariadne was nearby and Arthur saw her looking around for Eames, too.

“Maybe he’s late,” he suggested.

“I dunno, but it’s just _weird_.”

He couldn’t agree more.

Eames was rarely out of the shop, but even those few times made the atmosphere more heavy and less… something.

Arthur didn’t like it.

He and Ariadne weren’t the only ones unsettled.

Since Arthur had begun frequenting the _Spitfire_ , several other customers had become regulars and all of them seemed twitchier than usual without Eames around to be his usual self.

Strangely, the regular customers who’d been there for years – except for Ariadne, oddly enough – didn’t seem all that fazed.

“It’s almost like they’re used to it,” Ariadne whispered, the both of them having moved to a table near the wall so they could keep a lookout for Eames.

It felt better to have her there so close to him, because it felt really strange without Eames and it was already time for the lunch rush to start streaming in. Eames would’ve already came out of the woodwork and the fact that he hadn’t was alarming.

To the two of them, anyway.

Others didn’t seem as worried.

Yusuf came in after the bulk of the Saturday rush and paused at the door when Eames wasn’t present.

Ariadne waved him over and pulled him down as Arthur crowded her other side. “You’ve been coming here a lot longer than I have,” she told him. “Is this something Eames usually does?”

“He hasn’t been in all day?” he asked.

“I’ve been here all day,” Arthur frowned. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Really? Huh, maybe he’s decided to go on that trip Saito’s been after him to take.”

“A trip?” Arthur blinked. “He didn’t say anything.”

“Maybe Saito had him kidnapped and dragged off,” Ariadne suggested. “What trip?”

“Well,” Yusuf shrugged, “he usually takes a trip about once every other year or so. I think I came in about six months after the last trip, but that’s about three years ago, now.”

“I didn’t know that,” Arthur couldn’t help scowling. Granted, he didn’t quite know very much about Eames or his life and he had no right to feel jealous that he was finding things out second-hand from other people, but damn it.

He wanted Eames to tell him stuff like this so he could prepare himself when Eames wasn’t there.

“Even if Saito kidnapped him,” Ariadne frowned, “someone would’ve said something, right?”

“I don’t know,” Yusuf shrugged. “Like I said, he hasn’t been on one of those trips since I’ve been coming here.”

“I think you’re right, Ariadne,” Arthur shook his head. “Eames is the kind of person who tells everyone where he’ll be off to. If Saito had anything to do with it, then he’d at least show up himself to let everyone know.”

But Saito didn’t show up to say anything about Eames.

Neither showed up at all.

Well, Saito didn’t usually show up on Saturdays, anyway, but Eames was always there.

Arthur got the impression that he didn’t actually ever have to show up, because the employees knew exactly what to do exactly when they were supposed to do it. It was like they were used to doing it by themselves and without Eames there to guide them.

Not like they probably needed guidance – they wouldn’t be good employees otherwise -, but they didn’t seem as cheery as they normally did.

“Think they know where he is?” Ariadne mused as they watched, Yusuf long gone.

“I don’t know,” Arthur tapped a finger on the table a few times.

“Go ask.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re legitimately the only one freaking out more than I am? Plus, you have a – you know – a thing with Eames. They won’t question it if _you_ ask.”

He sighed, not sure what response to give before conceding the point and standing up. He caught the attention of one of the familiar employees and leaned against the order counter. “Hey, I, um, I haven’t seen Eames today and… Is he okay?” he wasn’t sure what degree of concern he was projecting, but the young woman smiled sympathetically.

“We’re all a little worried about him,” she assured. “He’s come down with a bug, but he should be well enough to visit sometime in the next week.”

“Oh, I- I’m sorry to hear that,” disappointment warred with concern as the vacation theory crashed and burned like a hit plane in a dogfight.

“We weren’t sure if you knew or not,” she went on. “You two are best friends, aren’t you? Why wouldn’t you know if he was sick or not?”

“Oh, I’m not – I mean, I like to think we’re friends, but –”

“He said you were his best friend,” she shrugged. “And all of us know he doesn’t hang out with anyone else.”

Arthur stared at her, words completely gone.

“Oh, sorry,” she found a customer needing her attention. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

Arthur slowly turned around and walked back to his table on unsteady legs.

“So?” Ariadne blinked up at him.

“I’m his best friend,” he blankly announced.

“… is this bad?”

“No,” he dropped down into his chair. “I just… I have a best friend.”

“You know, you really don’t seem to give yourself much ‘friend material’ credit. I guess I should tell you that you’re one of my coffee shop friends.”

“I am?”

“I’ll get you a scarf for your birthday,” she patted his arm. “We’ll make it official.”

* **


End file.
